Chronic
by emilyissad
Summary: Teenaged Robert Chase, guardian of his younger sister, lives 4,000 miles from home in New Jersey in Chronic Pain- Well, until a nosy head of diagnostic medicine adds himself into the equation...
1. Chapter 1

"Robert? Robert… Get up"

Like a floodgate opening, waves of blinding pain come crashing down on Robert Chase's frail body. Beads of sweat produce on his fair forehead and his breathing speeds up. A near death experience every morning gets old fast.

"I have your pills, here" soothes Cindy, the morning ritual becoming muscle memory. Chase's shaking hand reaches up to grab the ever increasing fistful of pills from his sister's hand and throws them into his mouth. Instant relief allows him to sit up slowly in the dim, damp and dingy apartment he was barely able to procure with the little money he had. Cindy looks so out of place, he thought. Her fair skin and arctic smile illuminated the room better than the solitary, shade-less flickering lightbulb could. Honey hair that tickled her waist hid the clock until she bent down to pick up the glass of water she brought daily. _Eight forty-seven._

"You're going to be late, sis. What are you doing still hanging around here?" he mewed weakly, brushing his golden forelock out of his topaz eyes.

"You had another nightmare. I wasn't sure if I should've woken you or not…" Chase sighed apologetically. "It's getting worse, Robert! You take more pills every day and you're in more and more pain… You cry at night and you've lost loads of weight… I'm scared"

"Cindy, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about anything except for school. As long as you wake me up every morning, I'll study, get my degree, get paid and we'll leave this shit hole, ok?"

She crinkles her nose indignantly whilst the blonde Australian climbs to his shaking legs. "The meds are clearly not working anymore… Please can you go to the doctors and get your meds adjusted?"

"Cindy, I don't need them adjusted." Everything goes black and he grabs the cold wall until his vision fades in and the ground stops swirling. "D-dad is a good doctor and he knew what he was doing when he gave me the scrip. They do work! W-would you rather be able to eat every night or have me be chugging a pricier pill that does the same thing?"

Cindy gets up from her perfectly poised kneeling position and elegantly glides towards him, taking his waist and walking him back towards the moulting sofa. "I'd _rather_ you not be in excruciating pain every single morning…"

Chase's vision is now fully restored and Cindy's concerned expression fills his heart with guilt. "I'm not." How does she do that? Ginormous cerulean marbles exude sorrow above shocking white teeth nibbling rosebud lips designed to force out an apology. Cindy always knew how to get what she wanted and all she had to do was make _the face._ "Ugh. Ok. My exam is this morning- I'll get that out of the way and then make an appointment this afternoon, happy?"

"Ecstatic." Wrapping her slender arms around his neck- all Chase can think is how much he already hates today. Even the prospect makes his skin crawl; well, at least he got a hug out of it…

"Oh my god _eight fifty-two,_ get out and go to school already!" She smirks in mock disapproval and leaves promptly not bothering to lock the door- after all, who'd rob this dump?


	2. Chapter 2

Juddering, the almost empty train car exacerbates Chase's pain to the point where he can't even bear to be awake. _Need more pills…._ But Chase knows that he can count the right amount let alone unscrew the bottle. The train warden is nowhere to be seen so he takes the opportunity to spread his meagre body over three seats and cover himself with his coat. Rising and rising, the pressure in his head feels like it's about to burst. Frantic fingers scratch at the train seats and his shoulders twitch and shudder uncontrollably. _I. Need. The. Pills._ That's it. The last straw. He knows the next stage will make him scream and he could never let his façade slip. He needs to be strong. He needs to look after Cindy. To pass this exam. To make more money. _The pills. Now!_ He procures the little orange prescription bottle. Nine left rattling. How many does he take? Four? Five? Six? He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He needs them all. _Do it. Do it!_ Click. The diamonds roll onto his sweating palm and are downed in one. The shaking subsides but not enough for Chase to have a firm grip on the container. It rolls along the floor gaining speed and momentum until it knocks against a man's foot.

Sporty black trainers with an oak cane in between. Tattered jeans and stubble that could be used as a pan scourer were balanced on top in the form of a man who appears a lot older than he is. Gregory House leans down and picks it up, his thigh jerking on the way down. _Pain. Chase always recognises pain. It's like a secret salute between the people who are suffering at that moment._

 **OXYCODONE, 5MG TABLET**

 **CHASE, ROBERT**

 **TAKE 1 TO 2 EVERY 3 TO 4 HOURS**

 **DISCARD AFTER 07/03/17**

 **REFILL**

 **QTY: 60 TABS**

 **PRESCRIBED: CHASE, ROWAN M.D**

House smirks beneath his beard. It couldn't be. The legendary Rowan Chase's son hopped up on OxyContin? Rowan giving him prescriptions or his son stealing his scrip pad filled the diagnostician's heart with fire and curiosity; _God knows he'd missed that feeling_. The malnourished pre-corpse of Rowan Chase's son trembling on a New Jersey train line shot pangs of longing for his job back. The thrill of the chase (no pun intended). _Oh wait. Oh. Oh fuck. Shit. Shit shit shit shit!_ Too wrapped up in his fantasy of a scandalous rheumatologist- he had ignored the dosage guideline. He took about nine, didn't he? God, it's morons like this who clog up ER's and distract _good_ doctors from cool cases… Flinching at every step, House hobbled over to the nineteen year old and squatted so they were face to face.

"Hey… Hey!" He barked. Clicking his fingers in front of his elegant nose did nothing to rouse him. _Shit._ "Chase. Chase!" He made a fist and rubbed his knuckles against Chase's prominent sternum. … _27, 28, 29, 30…_ Half a minute passed and no reaction. _Shit._ Princeton station is the next stop so he called the ambulance there. "Hey pretty boy, get up!" nothing. Classic overdose. Breathing slowed so much it's barely audible. Thready pulse. House begins CPR. He does not want to be known as the doctor who let Rowan Chase's kid die. But more importantly… House wants to know why Robert Chase is 4,000 miles from home in New Jersey having an oxycodone seizure on a train. Maybe this is the way to shoehorn himself back into the great game.

Another round of eight chest compressions begin and he feels the sternum give way. The crack makes him cringe but the blonde is beating again. Weak, rasping breaths emanate from his heroin chic frame. The game begins…


	3. Chapter 3

"This is Robert Chase, age 19, who's overdosed on oxycodone about fifteen minutes ago. Temp of 39 degrees Celsius, heart rate is at 59 bpm and resps are 12. Completely unresponsive and oxygen deprived for five minutes, also broken sternum and two cracked ribs due to CPR- let's go people!"

The young blonde lies splayed out onto the gurney that was being wheeled through the ER doors of Princeton Plainsboro. He has an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose hiding his sharp jawline and his clammy, limp hands vaguely twitched by the sides of the trolley. Dr House hobbles alongside, some of his agony forgotten by an intriguing new case which causes a cunning glint in his eye- a glint that causes Lisa Cuddy's jaw to drop in disbelief. _House in the ER? This kid had to be a damn celebrity if it got House doing the mundane job of "plebs"…_

Strutting, the brunette makes her way over to resus to stand beside her lunatic employee who is commandeering a small team of ER nurses around the blonde's bedside. "House?" she manages to say after a few moments of aphasia, "What are you doing back so soon?"

"I finally realised that caring truly is the best medicine" he mocks a fake voice crack sarcastically.

Sighing she views the patients' chart. "19 years old? Oxycodone OD? Hardly a medical mystery, House!"

"It's psychological!" he says distracted as he inserts an IV into Chase's slight forearm.

"Oh of course! The greatest mystery of the century! Why on earth would a nineteen year old do drugs?" Cuddy huffs exasperated. ".. It says here you were first on scene?"

"Yep. I was gonna leave him on that train but he was just so darn pretty!"

"You didn't… sell… anything to him…. Right?" she whispers behind her clipboard, wishing that her comment was sarcastic.

"Cuddy, we all know I'm a Vicodin man. Anyway- they're not stolen, in fact prescribed _to_ him! Check the bottle." He grins madly as he takes a step back to marvel at the scene, brimming with theories before him. He tosses the bottle, delighting in her clumsy catch.

"Robert… Chase? Isn't that the famous rheumatologist?"

"Nope. That's Rowan Chase, his dad." House can hardly contain his smirk.

"Oh of course. Just a simple case of fanboy-itis… I should've known…" Cuddy has clearly no interest in what was obviously the greatest piece of gossip ever to grace this very hospital but the limping Doctor was not going to pass this case up. The stomach pumping was beginning as the nurses inserted a tube down the kid's oesophagus. _Delightful._ This day could honestly not get any better.


	4. Chapter 4

"So you were on a train…"

"Yep."

"And you just happened to be sitting across from Rowan Chase's son?"

"Correct"

"Who then took a fistful of Oxycontin…?"

"Pretty much"

"Overdosed"

"Affirmative"

"And now you're his attending…"

"Spot-on."

"Mmkay… Now you're sure you didn't sell it to him?"

"No!" House and James Wilson sit in his darkened office; Wilson tries to eat his chilli around House's intermittent swiping of kidney beans.

"Isn't this boring for you? A teenager does drugs and doesn't bother to count them… Basically you're life story isn't it?" Wilson chuckles at his quip but is met with arctic blue indifference.

"This is incredible, Jimmy… I don't think you know the magnitude of this goldmine I've struck on! Okay—take this for instance: I've called Dr Chase in… but I had to search for his number on the internet." He leans back at this _impressive_ feat.

"….So?"

"So? SO! The kid doesn't have a password on his phone… I look through the contacts: Sister, pizza delivery, college professors… But no daddy. Oh no!" he chortles proudly.

Wilson leans back as well, puzzled. "Most teenagers hate their parents anyway though… Right?"

"Of course they hate their parents…" House soothes a pang I his thigh by circling the hair he was sat in. "But not their money. I guarantee you that if you search any teenager's phone, that all the texts between "I hate you" and "I wish I was adopted" are some variation of "I need your money"." He delights at Wilson's conceding face. "And this is no regular high school dick… He's at college! These kids are so broke, half of them turn to drug dealing anyway!"

"College…. The dad has to be paying for college. Why refuse money but not college tuition?"

"Easy. Escape ticket. Let down your pride, accept education, get a degree, get a job, get paid. Get you and your sister even further away from Dad."

"But Why?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out." House leans in, steals Wilson's cookie to his dismay and limps out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

With a proverbial skip in his atrophied step, House makes his way back to the ER going to check on his newly acquired golden retriever of a patient. There is something about Chase… And not just his last name. Something truly made him _feel… something_. He doesn't know what it is: maybe his tortured eyes that catch House's reflection, his wilting physique that juxtaposes his rich background or maybe he's just a little bit sexy. House scraps the last one. _Irrelevant._ Wait. What the fuck? He looks through the ER and no floppy blonde bangs in sight. _Oh Cuddy… Don't you dare spoil my fun!_ As fast as his mutilated quad allows him to stagger, he heads for the elevators only to find two porters, Cuddy and Chase.

"Ah, House… I wondered when you'd show up."

"Ah Cuddy… I wondered when you'd ruin my life again."

"Don't be childish, House. This case has been diagnosed." Cuddy is compelled by House's lasers boring into her. "Depression. You were so caught up in the drama you didn't even notice the signs." She huffs smarmily.

"He is not depressed! The idiot just can't count his pain meds!"

"Really? Are the concentration camp physique, suicide attempt and cuts all over his body part of the remedial maths package too?" She lifts Chase's gown to reveal a series of aggressive and jagged scars stretching over his thighs. Not accepting defeat, House continues to argue his case.

"What kind of a moron tries to kill themselves on a public train" he moans, grated.

"I don't know House. Maybe he wants morphine. Maybe he wants attention. He can go over all this with a counsellor when he wakes up. Get out of the way." House stands indignantly in front of the elevator doors much to the annoyance of the porters

"He is his little sister's guardian. He works 3 jobs and—"

"How do you know this?"  
"RESEARCH- and goes to college for hours. He's malnourished, she's not- obviously feels the need to protect her from their dad-"

"What? What are you talking about? You can't admit someone to your department over speculation—a-and how the hell do you know the quality of his sister's health?"

"Cus she's standing behind you right now."

Cindy Chase trembles behind Dr Cuddy. Her fists clenched and feet spread apart. The martial stance looks odd when put on the same canvas as her waist length honey hair and rosebud lips. Never has Dr House seen so much anger, angst and ascetic embodied in the slight frame of an Australian fourteen year old.

"My brother is not depressed." She utters calmly yet secretly terrifying.

"I know."


End file.
